Tag Archives: Liquid Friday

This wonderful short story or love, friendship and coming out, from Eden Freed is available free on Kindle , but only for a very limited time. Get it today or this Saturday December 8th or miss all the fun.

Oh, and I almost forgot the cocktail, with all the excitement promoting my short story. Silly me.

In the story, Lelo and Sasha seem to be more of teatotalers, so for tonight we will respect their choice and go with a nice cup of hot Earl Gray tea. Earl Grey is a flavored tea with probably the most known distinct flavor. It is a black tea base, flavored with bergamot orange rind oil. Bergamot orange is a citrus fruit with the appearance and flavor somewhere between an orange and a lemon with a little grapefruit and lime thrown in.

So brew yourself a nice cup of this delicious tea, and kick back with the free copy of Eat Dessert First.

Enjoy!

Blurb:

Lelo has the ultimate friendship in Sasha. A person that cares for her, supports her, makes her laugh and enjoy life. Will she risk it all and follow her heart for a chance at romance? What if Sasha doesn’t share her feelings, doesn’t understand and walks away? Is it worth risking the friendship?

Excerpt:

My pulse quickened as Sasha took my hand and led me into her freshly decorated bedroom. Libraries had only slightly larger collections of history books than she had amassed. Every wall of the room from the floor to the ceiling was lined with them. I felt unworthy and stood there in a sort of rapturous awe akin to a religious experience.

“When I move, I’m giving these to you, Lelo,” she laughed but her cheeks didn’t light up the way they used to.

“Don’t you want to read them again?” My question made her look up at the ceiling. As familiar as I was with the gesture, I didn’t understand her tears. We shared everything, even embarrassing things like our first dates and the first time we had our hearts broken. Silent tears were strange creatures that kept the distance between us, but they had become increasingly familiar over the years.

When I first moved to Somerville, in second grade, Sasha was my first friend. I was her only friend. We painted each other’s nails and shared the same stick of bubble gum. There was a certain shyness in her soul that beckoned me like a moth to a flame. The fire in her made me burn with a curiosity to know everything. We began our kindred search with history books.

Twenty years and seven address changes later we were still best friends. We posted book reviews and critiques, sent countless emails, and spoke on the phone daily, though seldom saw each other. Her father was stationed in Los Alamos and we were both finished with college. She wanted to be closer, so I found an apartment for her. With my best pair of Keds on, I helped move carefully sealed boxes out of the van and into the freshly painted apartment. We sat on the floor and ate Chinese food unfolding the food containers into plates.

“You want me to help you unpack?”

“I’ll drive you nuts with my library OCD. Everything has to be in the correct order or I’ll spend hours fixing it,” she laughed pointing to numbers on the boxes. I knew all of her nuances. There was nothing more I wanted than to tell her everything I felt in my heart, but the fear of losing our friendship stopped me.

“You sure? I can count, you know.”

“No, I’m good. It will wait until tomorrow,” she said, laying her head against my shoulder. Her silken tresses brushed against my neck and I wrapped my arm around her waist, holding her so close that I could feel her heart beating like a hummingbird’s. My gut told me something was wrong, but I was too afraid to find out what it was. Silently, I prayed that she would confide the torment of her soul, but the hush only grew between us until I said goodnight.

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This week we are featuring author, Joseph R Kennedy and his new book: Nanecdotes: Confessions of a Thirty-Day Novelist, a must read for any one who has been involved with NaNoWriMo. By the way, Nanecdotes is available for free only today November 16th and next Friday November 30th, so do not miss this opportunity to get your laughs and a cocktail (sorry that one is not free) for your Liquid Friday.

Before we test our sense of humor, let’s hear from Joseph R Kennedy about his favorite cocktail for tonight:

I usually have whisky neat, but one of my favorites is the Irish coffee recipe from the Dead Rabbit in NYC, which is across the street from my job. Once the weather turns to winter, I look for having these, and I always get on New Year’s Eve on my way home from work.

INGREDIENTS

3 ounces freshly brewed coffee (I prefer Sumatra)

1¼ ounces Clontarf or Bushmill’s Irish whiskey

½ ounce demerara syrup

Runny whipped cream, for garnish

DIRECTIONS

In a 6-ounce tempered glass, stir together the coffee, whiskey and demerara syrup. Top with runny whipped cream and serve.

Ok, so lets grab a glass of this delicious sounding cocktail, kick our legs up and relax with Joseph R. Kennedy’s book:

My book Nanecdotes: Confessions of a Thirty-Day Novelist is out on Amazon as an eBook, and the paperback will be available soon. I wrote a number of humorous quips about NaNoWriMo, and other writers told me if I put it in a collection, they would buy it. I included one in the blurb related to wine.

Blurb:

In a world where authors pledge to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November, what could go wrong? Everything!

Characters who argue with their creators. Midnight desperation libations. Muses that inspire folly and fear. All are included in this collection of anecdotes … and a song!

Discover the wackiness of authors trying to write 1,667 words every day for a month.

Recycling: Most of the year.
“Honey, can you please put all the empty wine in the recycling. There’s like five of them just this week. They are picking up glass tomorrow.”

“Okay. I am a writer you know!”

Recycling: November
“Honey, can you please put all the empty wine in the recycling. There’s like fifteen of them just this week. They are picking up cardboard tomorrow.”

“Okay. I am a NaNo writer, you know!”

Nanecdotes: Confessions of a Thirty-Day Novelist is a collection of humorous quips inspired by National Novel Writing Month and thirty days of writing madness. All profits will be donated to support NaNoWriMo.

About the Author:

Joseph R. Kennedy is a long time I.T. Professional who is a part-time writer, and genealogy enthusiast. His current projects include a collection of quips, usually involving writing and anything involving literature, with an occasional nod to sports, genealogy, and the horror that is NJ Transit.

He is also an advisory board member for the New York Nineteenth Century Society, and a history enthusiast.

When not writing or reading, he can be found in various libraries or archives looking for Dead Kennedys, or doing steampunk related activities, like making a rocket jet pack.

He is a father of two adult children, lives in Northern New Jersey, and works in New York City.

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This week we are featuring author, ghost writer and coach Chris Redding and her new paranormal romance shape shifter novel Destiny of a Gargoyle: Book One When Gargoyles Love.

But before we immerse ourselves in the magic of her novel, we must hear from Chris Redding about her favorite cocktail for tonight:

Long Island Iced Tea is my favorite! Why that drink? Because when I was a bartender it was my signature drink. People came to the bar to ask me to make it because they’d heard mine was good.

Recipe:

Shot of Vodka

Shot of Gin

Shot of Triple Sec

Ice

Fill the rest of the glass with sour mix then a splash of cola.

Blurb:

Donal Foley was born in a time when magic ruled the Earth.

Gargoyles protected fairies from goblins. His family was a group of elite gargoyles who were assigned to protect a specific fairy. His father’s dereliction of that duty cursed his sons to become stone and wait.

Now reawakened in the twenty first century where no one believes in magic how is he going to convince his fairy that she is one and that she is in danger from a goblin?

He must do that without falling in love with her.

Excerpt:

The next morning, Meg was still wondering what mistake she’d made. What had she said that sent Donal running out of the bar?

She ended up taking the day off and now she was doing things that she normally had to attend to on weekends. Picking up dry cleaning and shopping for underwear were so much more pleasant when everyone else was at work.

Since she lived by the University of Pennsylvania and Drexel University, students streamed past her with backpacks and cups of coffee. Ah, to be young again.

Her first stop was to the supermarket for some food. With her canvas bags in hand, she entered the doors of the local supermarket, but something made her look behind her. She had the feeling someone was watching her.

She didn’t see anyone, except a young man who seemed out of place. And he looked like Donal. She blinked, but he was gone.

About Chris:

Chris Redding lives in New Jersey creating otherworldly stories. When she isn’t writing, she walks and does yoga. She is also a ghostwriter and a writing coach.

But before we venture into the Halloween spirit of her supernatural world, lets enjoy a drink that Reyna personally recommends:

The Drink: Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster

I first encountered this drink reading Douglas Adams’s “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” and I was smitten. It was described as “like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon, wrapped ’round a large gold brick.” It has also been described in the novel as “the alcoholic equivalent to a mugging; expensive and bad for the head.” Yum.

Ingredients and Instructions:

Fill a 28-oz. hurricane glass with crushed ice. Add the following in order:

1 oz. Everclear® (The ice should sizzle.)

1 oz. Bacardi® 151

1 oz. apricot-flavored brandy

1 oz. triple sec

1 oz. lemon juice

1 oz. orange juice

1 oz. pineapple juice

1 oz. Tom Collins mix

Stir, then top off the glass with ice. Drink. Slowly.

WOW! My only comment is that if I were to drink this slowly, I’ll never get to check out Rayna’s book. So how about grabbing a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, kicking back and relaxing with her book in hand. Now we can start indulging!

The Book Blurb:

Troubled psychic Fia leads a double life. As a ground pounder for Search And Rescue, she finds the lost and vulnerable living and brings them to safety. As a servant to an ancient and indifferent Psychopomp, her mission is no less crucial – to help the suffering dead cross over to the afterlife. Her worlds collide after a distraught woman with a gun disappears into the woods and the rescue becomes a body recovery.

When a frantic hammering erupts from the empty SAR team trailer, Fia appeals for help to Cam, irascible Brit, mentor and Psychopomp aficionado. But nothing is what it seems and a straightforward case soon goes sideways. Will Fia and Cam be able to uncover the shocking truth behind the final act of a desperate woman and free her tortured earthbound spirit?

Book Excerpt:

“Can you tell me about the baby?”

Cam lifted a shoulder and then stared at the bottle in his hands. “Not much to tell, really. It was 1975 and I was working a job in Kings Worthy.” Glancing at me, he elaborated. “That’s in England. It’s a very old place. It was listed in the Domesday Book – you know, the survey taken in 1066?”

I bristled a little. “By William the Conqueror after the Norman Conquest. I know. I was a history major, remember?”

Nodding, Cam took up the story again. “Anyway, I was busy trying to lay the ghost of a Victorian clergyman who had taken up residence in the old church. At the same time, there was an archaeological dig taking place in the churchyard. They were interested in the old Anglo-Saxon burials and they eventually unearthed the skeletal remains of a young woman.” He took another drink and affected nonchalance as he continued the story. “Lying between the long bones of her legs, they found the skull of a full-term infant, but the fetal leg bones were still clearly within her pelvic cavity.”

“A coffin birth?” My eyes went wide at this thought.

Cam nodded again. “It happens. A pregnant woman dies and is buried and because of pressure from the gases that build up during decomposition, the dead fetus is expelled from the equally dead mother.” Looking down at his hands again, Cam picked at the label on the bottle. “Anyway, shortly after this find, the cries of a baby could be heard coming from the graveyard. It so disturbed the archaeological team that no one wanted to dig anymore and the work came to a grinding halt.”

“And did it also disturb you? Cam, I can tell this is difficult to talk about.”

Cam rolled his eyes and exhaled deeply, his words were clipped. “Yes, right. It bothered me a great deal. The baby was an innocent and completely blameless, yet she was left to suffer horribly for centuries.”

“But wasn’t the mother with the baby? How did you finally help her to move on?”

“I went into the churchyard with Zackie late one night to find the baby. The mother was nowhere to be found, so I assume she crossed over shortly after her death.”

“She left the baby?” My mouth hung open, aghast at the thought of just taking off and leaving an infant.

“She probably didn’t know the baby remained. In her time, the belief was that unbaptized infants went to Limbo, so in all likelihood, she died assuming that the baby would find its way and be taken care of.” Cam shrugged again. “Who knows? All I know is that earthbound souls of infants are a rarity, so most of the time, they move on with no difficulties. Something went wrong for this one.” Cam frowned as he stared into the middle distance for a beat. “But, you know, as soon as she saw Zackie, she quieted and stopped crying. Getting her to go through the portal was a breeze compared to the clergyman. I had to work another two weeks before the clergyman moved on.”

About Reyna:

REYNA FAVIS holds a Ph.D. in biology and brings a scientist’s critical eye to the unseen world, imposing logical consistency and mechanistic detail to the unexplained. A proud and militant introvert, Reyna exerts her power as mistress of the dark arts of introversion through her blog, Introvert Broadcasting Network. When not writing, she responds to callouts as a canine handler for search and rescue. She lives in Warren County New Jersey with her husband, a search dog and a coterie of pets.

But before we dive ourselves in this mind boggling novel, we must hear from Isabella May about her favorite cocktail suggestion for tonight.

The Piña Colada. All too often it’s associated with Del Boy Trotter from Only Fools and Horses, but could a cocktail be more exotic whilst retaining its status as a classic? I’ve yet to come across a contender.

A well-constructed Piña Colada (think the Waldorf Astoria’s cocktail bar in New York… or more recently, the offering I sampled at La Bulla Bar in Estepona, Spain), should do three things:

Kate Clothier is leading a double life: a successful jet-setting businesswoman to the outside world, but behind closed doors, life with Daniel and his volcanic temper is anything but rosy. Some days – heck, make that EVERY day – cake is her only salvation. Slowly but surely, the cities she visits – and the men she meets – help her to realise there IS a better future. And the ley lines of Glastonbury are certainly doing their best to impart their mystical wisdom… But will she escape before it’s too late?

Excerpt:

The Piano Bar was a tradition embedded firmly in the top ten of Corny Things to do in Bologna. Whilst the melange of confection and liquor was a feast for the senses (Steph was already cooing over the Zuccoto Semi-Fredo, mentally noting how she could re-create its perfection), the clientele were mainly tragic, brash or both. For a woman, it was a dodgy place to be. People were packed concertina-tight across the width of the bar, so that for someone as petite as me – and sadly we’re definitely only talking height – it could take several hours to wend your way through the maze of conversations. Bottom pinching wasn’t unheard of, pickpocketing either.

But for all that, there was something so compelling about gradually making your way up the stairs, drink in hand, to the famed lounge to feign sophistication whilst something wretched was being hammered out on the keys of the electronic organ, and an overenthusiastic, glitzy, blue-rinsed lady belted out a number from the golden ages, warbling pitifully whenever she hit anything higher than a top E.

As Henry handed me the umpteenth mixer of the evening, I turned a little too quickly, bashing straight into a tall middle-aged man.

Oh, okay maybe he wasn’t quite middle-aged. I quickly decided that for a Silver Fox, he wasn’t all that bad looking either.

I felt a sharp tap on my back.

“It’s nearing midnight” said Daisy, as I turned to see my well-meaning colleague had started tapping at her watch as well. “We really ought to head back to the hotel. The morning only heralds Day Two, after all.”

Thanks, Daisy. That was close. I chanced to look over my shoulder, but thankfully he’d gone.

Steph and I followed the advice of our elder, ditched our glasses and turned to say our snappy farewells to the men, who were far too inebriated to understand what our plans were anyway.

“Ah choof off then, why don’tcha?” said Sebastian, at which point I don’t think I’d ever seen him look more like Eton Mess. “Talk about boring… it’s not even officially Thursday yet. Geez guys,” he pointed at Henry and Adrian, “you two really need to train your staff to last the distance.”

We snaked our way to the exit where Silver Fox stood, running his fingers through his hair whilst chatting with a group of men. Something told me – and my pulse – it would be impossible to slip past undetected.

“We meet again,” he said, as I chanced to unsuccessfully squeeze past him, my bust making more than ample contact with his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about earlier,” I said with a giggle. “My boss will insist on topping me up every five minutes.” I was too merry to wonder whether that came across as a sexual double entendre.

Silver Fox, amused, seemed to have forgotten the soaking already. And I sensed that all too familiar book-fair-affair-twinge in my stomach as he studied me intently and his grin widened.

“So, I’m guessing you’re a P.B?”

I ignored yet another sharp tap on my back and gave him my ‘excuse me?’ face.

“A Publishing Babe,” he said, laughing cheekily.

Christ, how corny.

“Steph’s managed to hail us a cab, Kate. Time to say goodbye to your friend,” said Daisy, revealing my true identity.

“Well, that’s you told. See you around… Kate,” he said.

“Maybe you will,” I smiled, emphasizing my final word far longer than was necessary as Daisy tugged me out the doorway.

But the fresh air seemed to sober me immediately. As we sped back to the hotel, and Steph and Daisy pondered our four male colleagues’ likely actions over the encroaching hours, I lay my head against the taxi’s window, saddled with remorse.

Isabella May lives in (mostly) sunny Andalucia, Spain with her husband, daughter and son, creatively inspired by the sea and the mountains. When she isn’t having her cake and eating it, sampling a new cocktail on the beach, or ferrying her children to and from after school activities, she can usually be found writing. As a Co-founder and a former contributing writer for the popular online women’s magazine, The Glass House Girls – she has also been lucky enough to subject the digital world to her other favourite pastimes, travel, the Law of Attraction, and Prince (The Purple One). She has recently become a Book Fairy, and is having lots of fun with her imaginative ‘drops’! Oh! What a Pavlova is her debut novel… and her second novel, The Cocktail Bar, will be published 13th February 2018.

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This week we are featuring J.T. Ellison, a New York Times bestselling author of psychological thrillers and her newest release: Lie to Me.

But before we indulge ourselves in this mind filling novel, we must, just must hear from J.T. Ellison about what is her favorite cocktail for tonight.

Whenever I have something to celebrate, and even when I don’t, there’s nothing I love more than a champagne cocktail. Simple, timeless, delicious. It’s one of my go-to drinks, especially in steamy summertime.

Ingredients:

Directions:

Fill the glass with brut champagne or another
bubbly (Cava or Prosecco make excellent CCs!), pop
in a cherry or a lemon twist, and enjoy. Ching-ching!

So lets kick back and relax with this scrumptious cocktail in hand and finally check out Lie To Me.

Blurb:

Domestic noir at its best. Readers will devour this stunning page turner about the disintegration of a marriage as grief, jealousy, betrayal and murder destroy the facade of the perfect literary couple. New York Times bestselling author J.T. Ellison takes her exceptional writing to a new level with this breakout novel.

They built a life on lies.

Sutton and Ethan Montclair’s idyllic life is not as it appears. They seem made for each other, but the truth is ugly. Consumed by professional and personal betrayals and financial woes, the two both love and hate each other. As tensions mount, Sutton disappears, leaving behind a note saying not to look for her.

Ethan finds himself the target of vicious gossip as friends, family and the media speculate on what really happened to Sutton Montclair. As the police investigate, the lies the couple have been spinning for years quickly unravel. Is Ethan a killer? Is he being set up? Did Sutton hate him enough to kill the child she never wanted and then herself? The path to the answers is full of twists that will leave the reader breathless.

Excerpt:

PROLOGUE
IN WHICH INTRODUCTIONS ARE MADEYou aren’t going to like me very much. Oh, maybe in your weaker moments, you’ll feel sorry for me, and use those feelings of warmth and compassion and insightful understanding to excuse my actions. You’ll say to yourself, “Poor little girl. She couldn’t help herself.” Or, “Can you blame her? After all she’s been through?” Perhaps you’ll even think, “She was born to this. It is not her fault.”
Of course it’s my fault. I chose this path. Yes, I feel as if I have no choice, that I’m driven to do it, that there are voices in my head that push me to the dark side.
But I also know right from wrong. I know good from evil. I may be compelled to ruin the lives in front of me, but
I could walk away if I wanted.
Couldn’t I?
Never mind that. Back to you.
Truly, deep down, you are going to despise me. I am the rot that lives in the floorboards of your house. I am the spider that scuttles away when you shine light in my corner, ever watching, ever waiting. I am the shard of glass
that slits the skin of your bare foot. I am all the bad things that happen to you.
I steal things.
I kill things.
I leave a trail of destruction in my wake that is a sight to behold, wave after wave of hate that will overwhelm you until you sink to the bottom of my miserable little ocean, and once you’ve drowned I will feed on your flesh and turn your bones to dust.
You’re mine now. You are powerless against me. So don’t bother fighting it.
I hope you enjoy the show.

WE FIND A BODY
The body was in the woods off a meandering state road that led into a busy, charming historical downtown. It was completely obscured from view, deeply hidden, under several pine boughs and a thick layer of nature’s detritus. Synthetic clothing was melted to the flesh, making it difficult to tell the body’s race or gender at a glance. Closer investigation showed hair that was long and a curious shade: not blonde, not red, possibly chemically-treated. The left hand held evidence of rings, possibly a wedding set, and so the body was eventually determined as female.

The shroud of melt and bough had not stopped the forever daisy-chain progression of decay. Instar maggots and adult flies delighted in their found treat. A genus party started soon after. Diptera and Coleoptera were evident three days in, paving the way for the coming colonization of Calliphoridae. Though the body was burned beyond ready recognition, the insects didn’t seem to mind; it was simply a barbecue feast to them.

Outside of this natural progression, the body lay undisturbed for two days. Birds of prey flew in long, lazy circles overhead. Cars drove past less than fifty yards away, drivers unknowing, uncaring, that one of their own lay rotting nearby.

Three Days Gone, a stray but severe thunderstorm knocked free several of the funereal branches, allowing the body to be exposed, pelted by hail breaking through the leafy canopy. The heavy rains wet the ground and allowed the body to sink deeper into the muck, where it canted on its side.

Four Days Gone, the body was ravaged by a starving coyote, forty-two razor teeth shredding everything available.

Five Days Gone, the body disarticulated, the fire and the heat and the wet and the insects and the coyote and the natural progression of things breaking it down quickly and without thought to the effects this would have on the loved ones. The idea of a non-intact body was sometimes more than people could take.

Six Days Gone, they found her.

SOMETHING’S MISSING
Franklin, Tennessee
Now
Ethan found the note ten minutes after he rolled out of bed that Tuesday, the Tuesday that would change everything. He came downstairs yawning, scratching his chest, to… nothing. Empty space, devoid of wife.

Sutton always began her morning at the table with a bowl of cereal, a piece of fruit, and a cup of tea and read the paper, scoffing at the innumerable typos—the paper was going under, paying for decent copyediting was the least of their worries. A bowl full of cereal, a glass of milk and a spoon would be laid out for him, the sports page folded neatly by his seat. Always. Always.

But this morning, there was no evidence Sutton had been in the kitchen. No newspaper, no bowl. No wife.

He called for her. There was no answer. He searched through the house. Her bag was in her office, her cellphone, her laptop. Her license was stashed in her small wallet, all her credit cards present and accounted for, a twenty folded in half shoved behind them.

She must have gone for a run.
He felt a spark of pleasure at the thought. Sutton, once, had been a health nut. She’d run or walked or done yoga every day, something physical, something to keep her body moving and in shape. And what a shape—the woman was a knockout, willowy and lithe, strong legs and delicate ankles, tendons tight and gleaming like a thoroughbred. A body she sculpted to match his own, to fit with him.

Ethan Montclair couldn’t have a dog for a wife, no. He needed someone he could trot out at cocktail parties who looked smashing in a little black dress.

And not only looked good, but sounded good. He needed a partner on all levels—physical and intellectual. Maybe it was shallow of him, but he was a good looking man, drew a lot of
attention, and not only did he want his wife to be stunning, he wanted her to be smart, too. And Sutton fit the bill.

He knew they made a powerful, attractive couple. Looks and brains and success, so much success. That was their thing.

After Dashiell, she’d bounced back into shape like the champion racehorse she was, though later, when their world collapsed, she’d become tired and bloated and swollen with medications and depression, and she no longer took any interest in being beautiful and fit.

That she’d decided to start running again gave him hope. So much hope.

Spirits lifted, he went back to the sunny, happy kitchen and got his own bowl, his own milk. Made a pot of tea, whistling. Went for the stevia—no sugar for the healthconscious Montclairs, no, never.

That was when he saw it. Small. White. Lined. Torn from a spiral bound notebook, a Clairefontaine, Sutton’s favorite for the smooth, lovely paper.

This… thing… was incongruous with the rest of their spotless kitchen. Sutton was above all things a pathological neatnik. She’d never just leave something lying about.

All the happiness fled. He knew. He just knew. He’d been all wrong. She hadn’t gone running.

He picked up the note.

Dear Ethan,I’m sorry to do this to you, but I need some time away. I’vebeen unhappy, you know that. This shouldn’t come as a bigsurprise. Forgive me for being a coward. Forgive me, for somany things.Don’t look for me.S

She was gone.
He felt something squeezing in his chest, a pain of sorts, and realized that his heart had just broken. He’d always thought that a stupid, silly term, but now he knew. It could happen, it was happening. He was being torn in two, torn to shreds. No wonder there were rites warning against this
—What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.

God was ripping him apart in punishment, and he deserved it. He deserved it all.

He didn’t cry. There were no tears left for either of them to shed.

He put the note down carefully, as if it were a bomb that might go off with the wrong touch. Went to their bedroom. Nothing seemed out of place. Her brush, her makeup case, her toothbrush, all lined up carefully on the marble. Her suitcase was in the closet.

He went back downstairs to her office, at the back of the house. Doubled checked.
Her laptop was on her desk.
Her cellphone was in the charger.
Her purse was on the floor next to her chair.
Her wallet inside, the smiling DMV photo that made her look like a model.
Like a zombie, he moved back to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and got out the milk. Poured cereal in the bowl. Dropped the stevia into his tea. Sat at the empty table, stared at the spot where his wife’s head should have been.

What was he supposed to do now? Where could she be? He ran through the possibilities, the places she loved, discarding one after another. Surely he was wrong in his thinking. Surely she’d simply run away, to one of her friends. That’s where she’d gone. Should he call Ivy and see if Sutton was camped in her kitchen, instead of his? Should he give her some time, and space, like she asked?

She left without her things, Ethan. Sutton’s lifelines are her laptop and phone. It’s her office, her world.

A dawning realization. Sutton hadn’t shaken the depression, not completely. She was still prone to fits of melancholy. She might have done something stupid, crazy. She’d tried once before, after… Oh, God. Her words. Perhaps she was telling him exactly what she’d done.I’m a coward. Forgive me. Don’t look for me.
He threw the bowl of cereal across the room.
“Bloody fucking hell. You selfish, heartless bitch.”

About J.T. Ellison:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J.T. Ellison writes standalone domestic noir and psychological thriller series, the latter starring Nashville Homicide Lt. Taylor Jackson and medical examiner Dr. Samantha Owens, and pens the international thriller series “A Brit in the FBI” with #1 New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter. Cohost of the EMMY Award-winning literary television show A Word on Words, Ellison lives in Nashville with her husband and twin kittens.
Follow J.T. online at Facebook.com/JTEllison14, on Twitter @thrillerchick, or on Instagram @jt_thrillerchick for more insight into her wicked imagination.

Praise
“[An] exceptional domestic thriller from bestseller Ellison… this standalone may be Ellison’s best work to date.”
—★ Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Wonderful … a one-more-chapter, don’t-eat-dinner, stay-up-late sensation.”
—Lee Child, #1 New York Times bestselling author of NO MIDDLE NAME

“Fans of GONE GIRL will gobble up this thriller about a marriage from hell, which moves at a blazing-fast pace and smoothly negotiates more twists and turns than the backroads of Tennessee. J.T. Ellison will keep you guessing every step of the way to the surprise ending!”
—Lisa Scottoline, New York Times bestselling author of ONE PERFECT LIE

“LIE TO ME twists you up, throws you into nail-biting action and unexpected revelations. Belt yourself in for this roller coaster ride.”
—Catherine Coulter, #1 New York Times bestselling author of ENIGMA

“LIE TO ME brilliantly combines a domestic noir thriller with a searing portrait of two writers trapped in a web of lies, betrayals, and murder. Sharply written and masterfully plotted, full of hard truths about the creative life and modern marriage, Ellison has written her finest novel—a breakout page-turner certain to win her a wide audience.”
—Jeff Abbott, New York Times bestselling author of BLAME

“A wickedly good thriller about a picture-perfect marriage that is anything but, LIE TO ME has it all: murder, lies and betrayal. J.T. Ellison will have readers hanging onto the edge of their seats with her latest cunning tale.”
—Mary Kubica, New York Times bestselling author of EVERY LAST LIE

“Secrets, secrets, who has more secrets? Writers or wives? With more surprises than a kitchen sink casserole, in LIE TO ME, J.T. Ellison lets us in on what goes on behind the closed doors of both.”
—Helen Ellis, New York Times bestselling author of AMERICAN HOUSEWIFE

“Ellison knows how to deliver gripping psychological suspense… Appearances can be deceiving, but Ellison’s writing is not.”
—Library Journal

“…An astonishing and satisfying ending that makes for a fantastic reading experience.”
—RT Book Reviews

But before we reach out for her new work of fiction let us find out what does Laci suggest for our readers this Friday night?

“I’m a self professed chocoholic, so a chocolate martini is my pick for that very reason. And who doesn’t love a martini glass? I think they’re sexy and sophisticated.”

Ingredients:

1.5 oz. cream de cacao

1.5 oz. chocolate Liqueur

2.5 oz. half-and-half

.75 oz. vodka

1 cup of ice

Combine chocolate liqueur, cream de cacao, vodka, half-and-half, and ice in a cocktail shaker. Cover and shake until chilled. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

For an indulgent finishing touch, drizzle chocolate syrup around the inside of your martini glass before pouring.

Synopsis:

The relationship was over long before it ended, so when her boyfriend dumps her, Kristy craves a change in life. Kristy’s best friend, Sherry, is into the BDSM scene, and on a whim and a bet, Kristy finds herself in the playroom at an exclusive club. A disguised Dom named Master Jay uses sensation play and a piece of silk to help her discover the world of kink. She finds it enjoyable and addictive, but what she doesn’t know is that Master Jay is really Jake, a much younger man to whom she’s strongly attracted.

For the past couple of years, Jake quietly watched Kristy in his gym. He doesn’t care that she’s older than him; he wants her. When the virgin BDSM sub he’s hired to train ends up being Kristy, Jake almost falls apart. During the scene they play at the club, he fantasizes about getting her into restraints in his own playroom. But Kristy is shocked when she learns that the two men she desires are one and the same. Can Kristy who’s led a vanilla sex life, and Jake, who knows nothing but kink, find a future together?

A note from the author:
BDSM is variable; it’s not black and white, it’s not always deep and dark. It’s whatever the participants want it to be, it’s individual, and there is no “right” way to do it – as long as it’s SSC (safe/sane/consensual).
I’ve done my research and have adapted kink into my personal life as a result. I’ve been to clubs, private play parties, demonstrations, forums, workshops, conventions, and conferences on the subject of kink/BDSM.
Don’t let what you think you know about the lifestyle, or what you’ve read in novels affect your thoughts on the subject. Be open-minded.

Jake pulled a key from his shorts and unlocked the new lock on his personal gym. Once inside, he kicked the door closed and turned on the lights. He looked around his room at the special-order gym equipment sporting cuffs and chains. His two favorite pastimes rolled into one–a gym of pleasure and pain. Despite the room being finished for several months now, he’d never shared this special place with anyone, and loneliness gnawed at him.

He dropped his head with a sigh. His plan had been to wait and tell Kristy that he was a paid Top, but only when the time was right. It shouldn’t have happened the way it did. “Fuck it, fuck this, and fuck her.” He closed his eyes and moaned. “God, I’d like to fuck her, and fuck her hard.” He snatched his iPod off a shelf and shoved the earbuds in. Cranking the music up loud, he walked to the mirrored wall and grabbed a set of hand weights. Closing his eyes, he began his repetitions in sync with the music.

When he opened his eyes, the mirror reflected someone behind him. He gasped. The door must not have closed behind him.

Standing just inside the door was Kristy, wide-eyed and looking around the room.

He put the weights down and turned, then leaned against the shelf and looked at her directly. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, she wore a long, cotton T-shirt, and it appeared she had no pants to speak of underneath. At least he couldn’t see any. Aw, hell.

When she looked his way, he took a step in her direction, but then she took a step back. He stopped and took out his earbuds. “Is everything okay, Kristy?” His voice sounded soft and gentle to his own ears.

“I-I couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”

She shook her head and pulled her gaze from him to scan the room. Walking slowly around, she eyed each piece of equipment, ending up at an assortment of whips, canes, floggers, and paddles all lined up neatly in a recessed cove in the wall.

Jake didn’t move, unsure why she was there. He expected her to run at any time, but she didn’t.

She walked up to him and stood a few feet away, not making eye contact. Shifting from foot to foot, she asked, “So, this is your special gym?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “You’re the first to see it.”

She finally raised her head and looked directly into his eyes.

Holy shit. He thought he saw several things flash through them, but he was convinced the predominant one was need. His dick twitched and he slammed his eyes shut. Opening them, he saw her watching him. He clenched his jaw and relaxed it to speak. “Kristy, what is it? Did you want to talk to me about something? Are you planning to move out? Because, damn…you don’t have to, but I’ll tear up the rental agreement. And if you want to cancel your membership downstairs that’s fine too, I will waive the cancellation fee for you…if you want.”

“Jake, no. I don’t want to move out. I have nowhere else to go.” Looking down, she took a deep breath. “And if it’s all right, I want to keep my membership.” She peered up through her eyelashes.

“You do?” He couldn’t help the surprise in his voice.

“Yes, and I’m the one who should be sorry. After a nap, I woke up realizing how badly I behaved. I’m sorry. I felt blindsided; everyone was in on it except for me. I felt stupid and embarrassed. In the club…I thought you were a stranger, but you’re not a stranger, you’re my friend, and I didn’t handle the situation well.” Her cheeks pinked up. “It’s awkward for me.”

Out of everything she said, the word “friend” rang loudest in his ears. There was nothing more of a dampener on the libido than hearing the word “friend” from someone you find attractive. He turned and walked to the door. Holding it open, he said, “Kristy, I’m glad you’re staying, really I am, but you need to leave. Now.” His voice came out husky.

If she didn’t leave soon, he couldn’t be held accountable for what he’d do to her, and he’d enjoy every minute.

About the author:

When Laci’s not reading or writing, she can be found with her husband supporting their two teenaged children in a thing called life. Or maybe she’s running around with her camera taking photos while camping and/or hiking. Or lastly, and most probable – the TV is on in the background while she’s perusing her social media sites. Their family resides in the state of Virginia where Laci’s muse keeps her up late at night.